Tailing the Tiger

The sun was glaring but not hot this January afternoon, and the condors in the trees beneath the fort were quiet. Our driver took the track through the golden savanna grass toward Padam Lake. Its clear waters reflected the marshy shoreline and the very blue winter sky, and nothing else. The animals had gone.

Someone started to talk, but our guide, Devki Gujer, whispered: “Quiet! A tigress was seen at 1 o’clock today heading toward the lake.” He pointed up the hill where a herd of spotted deer was clustered under scrubby dhok trees. We listened to the stillness, then to their high-pitched warning call.

Slowly we drove away. Gujer, leaning over the side of our open 20-seat truck, watched the surface of the dusty road. We left flat, grassy “tiger territory” and dropped into a long, rocky dell filled with cool air. “Leopard country,” he said. Small streams trickled along narrow gorges and collected in silver pools, but the stone ledges were dripping with cactus, not big cats.

We circled back. Almost at the lake, the truck suddenly stopped. A clear pug mark (tiger paw print) sat on top of the tire marks we had made not 20 minutes earlier. Gujer allowed Kit, my travel partner, to climb out and take a quick picture as the rest of us scanned the surrounding tall grass.

At the edge of the lake, the air crackled with tension. Now we heard the warning call of the bigger and more confident sambar deer. The herd stood in the middle of the shallow lake. Gujer pointed to the eastern shore. “The tigress is in the grass over there is my thinking.”

A young man from Seattle sitting beside me whispered, “We can’t see the tiger, but she can sure see us!” And so we waited, mesmerized like the other animals by the presence of the tiger.

*

After 15 years of independently exploring the Himalayas, we finally were turning south to the flatlands. And, this year, Kit was obsessed with the big cat.

We thought of Kanha National Park in eastern Madhya Pradesh State, the largest protected area (about 780 square miles) in the country for tigers. Another popular park in Madhya Pradesh that uses elephant transport is Bandhavgarh National Park.

But many independent travelers (for organized tours, see Guidebook, L7) suggested Ranthambore National Park, northwest of Madhya Pradesh in north-central India. There the tiger rules.

Located at the junction of the Aravalli and the Vindhyas Hills in the southeast corner of Rajasthan State, the entire reserve encompasses 534 square miles. It includes the high rocky outcrop that supports the 1,000-year-old Ranthambore Fort--the well-preserved remains of a 12th century walled city--two bird sanctuaries, a game reserve and Ranthambore National Park. The park occupies about 160 square miles roughly in the center of the reserve, the westernmost habitat of the Bengal tiger in India.

A tropical, dry deciduous forest covers the rounded hills while rough gorges funnel water to collect in marshy, flatland lakes. The aquatic plants of these lakes attract the sambar deer while chital (spotted) deer graze on the shore-side grasses. They’re both food to the tiger.

Once the hunting preserve of the Maharajah of Jaipur, Ranthambore is quietly gaining a reputation as the place in India to see a tiger as it really lives in its natural environment. Under Field Director Shri G.V. Reddy, the park appears extremely well organized. The tiger is king, but the tourist is adequately catered to. And after park hours, the Rajasthan Tourist and Development Corp. (RTDC) and various Indian hotel chains endeavor to recreate the world of the maharajah for the visitor. Our hotel was a case in point.

On the main trunk line to Bombay, it is an easy four-hour train ride from New Delhi to Sawai Madhopur Junction, the stop for the park. We arrived with no reservations, but the lone taxi waiting at the station, at the edge of the town of Sawai Madhopur, took us down the road to the tourist office.

The annual bull festival--during which farmers from the surrounding areas bring in their bulls for show and sale--was in full swing. We pushed past the beasts and dashed in front of the many camel carts to get to the whitewashed building. The man behind the huge desk wouldn’t give out any of the papers and pamphlets on the shelves in the small room, but he gladly told all.

Our first choice of accommodation, the Maharajah’s Hunting Lodge, right on the lake, had closed four years earlier. “Too many tigers,” he said, “roamed the hallways!” This was not a joke. Later we saw photos that showed tigers in the building.

Since the tourist office phone was out, we headed unannounced for our second hotel choice, the Maharajah of Jaipur’s former Hunting Palace, now the Hotel Jhoomar Baori, run by the RTDC. For a set rate of 80 rupees (about $2.40), our taxi driver would stop at all the hotels along Ranthambore Way, the road from the junction to the park. And so we did, peeking into each of the dozen lodgings lining the nine-mile-long Park Road, as it is known locally. Each hotel sits in its own lovely garden, and each has either something to do with the days of the maharajah or is tastefully decorated to look that way. Facilities and prices vary.

The hubbub at the Angkur drew us in. The small hotel was surrounded by big green safari tents and a lot of excitement. Apparently one Jeep on the afternoon tour the day before had seen all four of the park’s cats: a tiger, a leopard, a rare caracal and a jungle cat

In the distance we saw the ochre dot of the Hotel Jhoomar Baori hanging off a rocky hill. The leafless winter forest wiggled with langur monkeys. Lime-green parakeets darted past and long-tailed peacocks strutted over the dry leaves.

Rajendra Singh, the house assistant, met us at the door. Extremely personable, he gladly told us how it all works. And the palace is perfect. According to Singh, “it is 150 years old, and it is as it was when the maharajah left in 1972.”

Several narrow stairways twisted up through the stone walls. Each of the four floors had an open-air terrace and a sitting room. Our room’s tiny balcony overlooked the hills of the park. “And see the frame on the hill,” Singh pointed out. “It was for the deer carcass [bait], and the maharajah would shoot the tiger from the roof as it came up to eat.”

The hotel functions around the park’s tourist hours. “The timings are bed tea and coffee at 6 a.m.,” Singh said, employing the Indian term used when early morning tea is brought on a tray to the guest’s bedside. “Lunch is 12 to 2, and dinner 7 to 9. The gift shop is open at meal times.”

The park is open between 7 and 10 a.m. and 2:30 and 5:30 p.m. The only way to get in is on one of four open trucks (called canters) carrying 20 people, or one of 10 open Jeeps (called gypsies) with a maximum of five passengers. There are four unpaved, dusty lanes--tracks really--that the vehicles drive on, and each tour includes two tracks. Only two vehicles may go the same way at one time on any track, and if two vehicles are stopped and a third drives up, one must leave.

“No exceptions,” Singh said. “The open trucks can be booked from all the hotels, but the Jeeps must be booked in person at the Project Tiger office back at the junction.” He suggested we hop on the open bus that was just pulling up, but we chose to wander the grounds with the camels, chipmunks and humpbacked (Brahman) cows, take tea in the garden and read on the hotel’s sunny roof.

At 7 p.m., a waiter arrived at our door wanting our dinner order and time of arrival in the dining room. Or he would order a taxi so we could dine at another hotel. We dined in, and dinner was delicious. Only three of the nine rooms in the hotel were occupied, and we had the baronial dining room to ourselves. Five waiters glided back and forth to our table, platters laden with curried stew and vegetables, rice and freshly baked naan.

At 7 a.m. the next day we rolled down Park Road in the open canter huddled under blankets. It was only 40 degrees. The first park gate is a narrow chasm between steep rock cliffs blocked by a crenelated wall and an iron-staked gate. Originally the first defense of Ranthambore Fort, looming above us on the right, it now serves as the main checkpoint for park workers and tourists alike.

The road descends beside ancient water tanks connected by a rushing stream, all shaded by palm trees, tall cactuses and crumbling ruins, and loud with peacocks. All 22 guides were university graduates and trained trackers. Nai Muddin, our morning guide, explained the layout of the park. “It is divided into two zones. Three hundred square kilometers form the inner zone, where no one but park officials are allowed. The buffer, or tourist zone, is 100 square kilometers, and in this area six to 10 of the 32 tigers roam.” The wildlife is not fed or tampered with, nor is the routine: “same routes, same times, no hides, no bribes, set prices for all.”

Apparently, in the busiest season (Dec. 25 to Jan. 1), Mr. Shri G., as the park field director is respectfully called by almost everyone, spends most of his time fending off the rich and famous from India and abroad who try to weasel in--even though there are no reservations available--or arrange an off-hours tour. That is why Jeep reservations must be made at the office, which will accept 30-day advance bookings to a limit of half the available spots; the rest are first come, first served.

Morning in the park was full of still and misty tableaux of contented wildlife. It was cold; my hands were freezing. A sambar buck stood knee-deep in a pink, algae-filled marsh, leisurely eating as we drove slowly by. The sun rose over the ridge, and scenes took on a honey-colored hue. Spotted deer grazed in the tall grass and wild boar, with their young, rooted at the edge of the lake. As the morning warmed, crocodiles crawled up on the rocks along the shore.

In all this fresh morning beauty we did not see a tiger, and it was easy to forget to look for the world’s most glamorous predator.

The tiger’s precarious position on Earth has become known to many. The global population dropped from about 100,000 at the beginning of this century to the commonly cited estimate of 5,000 to 7,000 today, due mainly to poaching and habitat loss, especially the loss of prey. On the Indian subcontinent, where 60% of the world’s tigers live, the current population is estimated at 3,000 to 5,000. But it’s only a guess.

In 1973, with a $1-million donation from Guy Mountfort, a founder of the World Wildlife Fund, and with overwhelming support from then-Prime Minister Indira Gandhi, India’s Project Tiger was launched. Ranthambore was one of nine initial sites chosen to protect the tiger “from all forms of human exploitation and disturbance and to restore and maintain its environment as close to its natural functioning as possible.” Since Project Tiger’s mandate included increased public awareness of the plight of the tiger, programs for visiting the reserves were created.

*

Next morning, we choose to explore Ranthambore Fort. The second largest walled city in the state, it is the pride of the Rajasthanis. Inside its massive walls are the remains of palaces, barracks, a town, and Hindu and Jain temples.

I was convinced we would see a tiger lounging on the fortress walls. Apparently that was the case during the 1980s when the tiger population started to come back. In 1992 a poaching gang managed to kill eight of the park’s “friendliest” tigers. The gang was caught, but it was a blow the park still is struggling to recover from.

We were lucky that afternoon to meet Mr. Shri G. He reiterated park statistics--that a tiger was sighted by a tourist 29 out of the previous month’s 31 days.

He was frank. Tourists are a necessary evil. His life’s work is to save the tiger. “This year there are two baby tigers in the core and two in the tourist area. It means our park has potential. The animals are very wise; the female does not come into heat unless the conditions are right.”

After success in the 1980s at reestablishing the tiger in India, the increase in poaching due to a greater demand for tiger bones as a Chinese aphrodisiac has taken its toll. An average of one Indian (Bengal) tiger per day is killed to satisfy the demand for tiger bones and parts used in traditional Chinese medicine, according to the worldwide Tiger Information Centre. Major importers are China, Taiwan, Hong Kong, Japan and South Korea.

As to poaching in Ranthambore, Mr. Shri G. said: “No poaching is a lie. And lots of poaching is a lie. The trouble is in the periphery, but it is not too frequent now. The people here are vegetarians, and that helps. The trouble comes from the media who write about the great amounts of money gained from the sale of dead tigers. Our job is to educate the surrounding population so that they realize the real and steady money comes from the presence of the tiger.”

That is his favorite topic. “Have you felt the presence of the tiger?” he asked. “If you see a tiger, it is actually unnatural behavior. A fresh pug mark is as good as a tiger.

“A tiger needs space, and in this modern world, in one of the most crowded countries in the world, it is important to maintain this symbol and example of what is disappearing from our lives.”

Project Tiger’s goal is to link many tiger parks together with corridors, to counteract inbreeding. It seemed like a tall order to us. But Mr. Shri G. disagreed. “If man can make the atom bomb, we can make corridors for tigers.”